


MORTUUS STELLA

by Marie_Audelia



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Assassination, F/M, Fairy Tail Week, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:53:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25631623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marie_Audelia/pseuds/Marie_Audelia
Summary: “I had once became guest of fortune-telling but ended up for the palmist to reap her own fate—death.” Second from the list of world’s best assassin, from the underground economy, Erza Scarlet alias Aries; the Ram.
Kudos: 1





	MORTUUS STELLA

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: The following scenes include extreme violence. The story line highly demands for vigilant notice of own self if not conformed to the worn genre. Either not, certifies enjoyment along while absorbing the words on every line.

There are three prominent stars in asterism; Hamal the Alpha, Sheratan the Beta and Mesarthim the Gamma. On the ninth of evening, month of December on the first quadrant of Northern Hemisphere, there lies the glimmer on the sky. Neighboring to the west of Pisces and east of Taurus between the latitudes 90 and -60 degrees, the 39th largest constellation claim its visibility; Aries. 

I. STELLA PRIMUM – MESARTHIM 

Sleep is granted for awake. Worn from beaming the day, time had moved the sun to siesta, to descend finally into idleness. Precedence remains into the throne of eventide that earns the census of people; to reload their depleted body. If sun had the fortuity to go on slumber, what more of the persons hovering below its domain.

Sleep is a choice for awake. Perhaps from the liberty earned behind the shadows, to conceal an identity from the eyes of the morn is fancied. They would choose not to consider the offered rest over a disguise. From what? Let the answer plunge on the enigma of murky zephyr. For who would have spot the mystery of duskiness? None but the dwellers of the dark themselves. 

Sleep had no existence to kill an awake. Consider no night of sleep to gain the subtle bliss from one’s eternal unconsciousness. The breath of death is hovering with the frigid gushing wind, scraping the fated dermis, waiting for an entrance to the heart of a forthcoming carcass to provide the orifice. A pit from the destined bullet. Midnight is a good hour to sleep, likewise is a good hour to silent someone to sleep. One thing that matter is both falling to slumber, yet the other is for eternal rest. 

Hargeon City  
November 20  
12:05 AM

Serene had vanished into heavy mist of night from piercing of noise to the balloon of silence; at least on the bounds of her loci. The friction of the wheels of Ducati Hypermotard 950 SP against the silken road of Oliva Street enkindle aggressively to the accelerating speed of its engine. Every ounce of reticence on the environment is perturbed by the raging blare of turbo from a tight grip on the clutch below a domical mirror placed on both sides. Albeit the strident hoot of the motorbike, a single sound is playing incessantly on the mind of the rider-- the thumping of clock's hand on subsequent minute. But what's more thrilling than participating on a game of chasing Time? A conjugation with another chase, or perhaps, an entrapment of prey. The increasing speed whacks the vehicle to neigh like a horse, with the front gyre to move in buoyancy. When landed, it took another speed faster than before enough to make regrets squander to adequacy. She's on time. 

"12:15." The air from the soft mutter ricocheted on an onyx headgear. With no less than six meters, a figure of a lad exiting from a faint salmon-painted domicile suffused her orbs, striding straight towards the four wheels. Consecutive half revolve on clench pave her way faster to the aim and so are the three spins of the disks of red Montero that advances. But woe halted the impending roll, or hath to say, fate thwarted him to move forward to the bounds of life. Too late, the grim reaper is summoned. Screech had reached the ears of external surroundings upon a swivel motion she executes. Inches from the ground, the bike tilted towards the sideway before the hood of the auto. A splendid stance is obtained. Contained on the silver band on her hips, a Browning 1911-380 is tugged by her right hand before seconds were gleaned by the wristwatch. What follows are two shots of bullet penetrating the skull, then to the heart of a creature with the depiction of horror. The rest of the scene is interpreted by the viscous liquid that showers the fragments of windshield.

Magnolia City  
November 30  
9:38 AM.

'The famous actor Jason is found dead on his car with gunshots on head and chest at 39 Oliva Street, Pine City on 12:35 AM. Witness claimed that two consecutive shots were heard outside her house. Further investi---' and the line is severed regulated by a small quadrate device. 

"House? A cavern of the other matron, rather." Bitterness either sympathy had gone astray. In lieu of, had nothing from the start. 

Sweet solace pervades the four corners of a flat with minimalist touch. Morn streaks are peeking through the parallel breadth between the dirty-white Venetian blind. Winter may claim the subsequent month wholly, soon- if it weren't from the breath of zephyr outside that paints on lunette. Swimmingly, a warm comfort crawls out from the Valhalla Java whirling inside a grey vessel. A strong aroma en route to nudge on listless consciousness. Placid. Serenity embraces a sole figure of sanguine strands with void orbs penetrating the vista perceived. Too much tranquility lies on her face, enough to neglect a dormant chaos dwelling on the abyss of psyche. A minute had already danced on the blinking screen of her Mac atop the single lectern that flaunt the words seizing her ogle. 

'What marvelous plot! I wonder how the author came up with the setting especially on killing scenes. Too realistic.' XLion is the user's epithet. 

Critiques are constantly mailed on her remarks section. Three days had passed when she last published the last leaf of her prose, and yet, it took three seconds to ensnare a notification towards a mounted commentary from the unknown user. What fear that knocks, each weight of words threw off a lump on her throat. Palpable as it may seem, yet felt like a disguised lid is conserving a wraithlike message. Because such banquet to her fright, at some point on the reader's statement, truth has its existence. She can write what she saw, undeviatingly. Or perhaps, to the betterment of her fear, she can write what she can do. Saved from cold feet, the depth of an unforeseen contemplation is shove by a startling ringtone on her line, flashing a well-known name. 

"Master." Subsequent to salutations is a sip from the coffee cup. 

"I saw the news. Remarkable as always, Aries. Your card has the pay already. And oh I remember, you still have one errand to do. Would you like to accept any forthcoming missions before the end of November and December?" End of December, dejectedly, she has a noteworthy task mainly for herself she longed for months. 

"Leave it on tarry. I know that you're aware of the significance of this goal-- our goal." An emphasis on end is intentional. 

"I know dear, I know. We'll soon hurl our net on that faceless vicious beast." Preserving more time, an unswerving sever of line between their device befell.

Macarov. A man on his old age ascended his hand to keep an orphan. Catering a roof and necessities, there's no further rationale of defiance upon acquiring such grant. Year of eleven when she vamooses the orphanage, bringing the longing for two dearly persons of the same dwelling. A lad of her age that suddenly vanished into thin mist and a lassie four years younger than her which faces an indigestible assassination inside the guild. Vivid to her anamnesis is as fresh as the viscid crimson fluid emanating from the fragile body of a three-year-old girl, feeble of defense. Grief had blanket the ceiling of whole orphanage, but severe misery is pricking her heart. She was the last to perceive before the lass had loosen her grip to the rope of consciousness. A last glimpse she absorbed that flashes the persona of hopelessness. 

To such a degree, is a sole reason to master the variance of weapons; she’ll aim for the desired hope onto those void ogles. Advancing her step towards the perilous ground, hesitancy wont abides. Apparently, it is like having a lofty walk voluntarily on spiked mouths of monstrosity to get the pearl inside its system. She will do anything to protect her beloved, if it means costing her life. As an assassin for four years, to attain the pennant of second’s best is nothing but a mere achievement. Alas, for victory only lies upon claiming the body of a person she aims to protect, able and secure.   
Beethoven’s Für Elise is now caressing the stillness of her abode. Each melody that escapes from Wrcibo CD Player soothes any possible tension on her nerves. Extending her arm towards the amassed files, at a glance, she reached for the ridge of the heap. An azure folder had provided a vertical fissure that separates the two hard sheets. Exhibited are the words woven together in summation towards the information of a later target. Ousting herself from plunging on a cream-colored settee, the paces she took brought her to the black metal coat rack. Indubitably, with no further glace to the stand, an olive parka coat is plucked.   
It is a moment to gather further information about her new prey, but with the aid of an unseen scythe meant only one thing. Another soul will soon be reaped. Or what terror--- it might be souls.

Magnolia General Hospital, Fiore  
December 01  
9:21 PM

If it weren't from the noise of falling globules of dextrose hanging alongside the hospital bed, silence had taken the tiara of supremacy. Erza nourished her gape from a lying body of a figure that has been in comatose for years. None but tenderness is penned on her unmasked face--- unveiled from the verity of the world. Holding the hand of patient, the identification label on wrist hasn't surpassed her scrutiny. 

Wendy Marvell   
ID Number 2761003 

"Wake up. You've been sleeping for a long time. I can now bake a strawberry cake for you. That's what you've been telling to me since then, we shall taste the sweetness of that loaf soon If one of us is adopted." As if the cloud had opened the entryway to pour faint drizzles, her eye had let a tear escape from the jail of agony. 

"Say you will still let big brother have a taste despite leaving us unknowingly. Wendy, we can look for him altogether." For no definite reason, her cognizance couldn't dig the name of the lad from her memory. And what woe, as well as his features. Clustering an adequate time, to bid a farewell from the ward has been decided. Fear had no room to consider from leaving the girl upon taking her job, she knows that someone is also in keen protection. Master Macarov, Wendy's real grandfather. Truths about their relation was unveiled after the horrific incident, which paves the way to meet him and his offers. 

The strides against the polished floor of hospice became sluggish, incapable of taking another step. It's always the same whenever she pays a visit. Akin to a vacuum that absorb dusts, that room is adept of ingesting her strength. This had led her to seek subtle comfort and rest from a bench on left. Sinking herself for minutes, a figure suddenly fills the vacancy beside her. 

"Sadness." A voice so deep-rooted enough to acclaim that a man is its owner. Confused, a gawk is fixated to him for a while. Towards her perspective, a side view of his physiognomy satiates her little distraction. The collection of his cerulean strands can make someone fixate their gape to him, thus what captivates her more is a scar etched on his eye. Sublimely, a crimson tattoo had gone it cover. What splendid idea to attain the compliment of being attractive. 

"Sadness is the word released from each sigh that flee from your mouth. Fifth sadness, you just sighed five times now." Filmed now by her orbs is the sight of his visage, fully. If she had daintily adored his features on half angle, an acclaim of such beguiling mug is affirmed. To such extent, her temporary skim is snatched by a white filling of cup offered to her, admissibly detecting a spice of coffee coming from within. 

"No worries. I haven't opened the lid yet. I suppose it is really meant for a lady with blues." He added without altering his demeanor. Assassins are known to preserve the most significant and only rule; to detach themselves from any possible emotions. Dimes are dropping on their palm excessively kindred to the extent release of a chased blood. But what thief had stolen the fealty, she had brought the wall down for a little. Initially, she already did anyway upon taking the first pace on the hospital. 

"You're not afraid if it contains poison?" Analogous to a child of abundant curiosity, he asked. 

"If ever it has, you'll still be the victim of your own play." Nonchalantly uttered under her breath followed by a quaff of brew. A statement that earned amusement from the lad. 

"Call me by my name, Le-" 

"Leo!" Exclaimed by voice of femininity from the entrance of hospice, distant from them, yet enough to hear upon the ricocheted sound on walls. 

"Ultear, I believe I've told her for nth time to stop following me." He uttered into thin whispers. Impending argument is unearthing its path, she presumed. And thus, a resplendent opportunity to take her absence before the forthcoming lass acquire a full sight of her appearance. Because she mustn't. Must not at all. If it weren't from the medical stuffs that blocks her spot from the angle of the new comer, she wouldn't have had the chance to calm her heartbeats out of jitters. The entryway wasn't a good path to take an exit, but a real exit door instead. 

On the midst of cold night roads of Magnolia, pyre has given birth on her system. The calendar has few days left to flip, because soon with the universe to witness, her name will be inscribed by cosmos. With a single stone on her hand, two birds must fall down.

Magenta City  
December 09  
7:52 PM

It's better to silent someone in a silent surrounding. Secluded from main roads, noises of few honking cars are inaudible on her spot. Even post's light is seemingly having the difficulties to extend its shade to the range of her loci, and so, a praise to the flickering radiance on sky must be acknowledged. Embraced by obsidian coat, the perfect curve of her waist is enveloped by an ashen-tint of shirt within. Descending, same tincture of lacerated jeans was donned with an IWB holster for Glock and one on thigh for sharps. As per her crimson strands, it is firmly garnered by a single ponytail. An adequate stance is attained to assimilate the view of a pavilion mainly of astrology. More minutes are left on the permeating clock before the owner decides to shut the entryway. That is, acknowledge from the days of her keen observation, personally. Days of track and stride betide to fully acquire the prey's daily routine, and that, as always, never betrays her instinct. She can still recall how she talks so naively to the target, as If how a demon is disguised. A departing figure from the lodge provided a cue to the snoop, an end of service to the last costumer. Alas, now her service shall reign. 

"May I ask you to read my fate?" As an adept slayer, adroitly are the muted steps against the floor which shares to the total mask of their presence. Because on a blink of lashes, she's already on abaft with puff of toxins on anyone's nape. Soon, will pull the erected small hairs to allow the poison enters a skin, capable of spreading a terminal ill. 

"Yes. I can consider having you-" A shift of direction from facing the opposite of the scarlet's visage, a woman on dark amethyst cloak had met the harvester of soul-- face to face.   
No further advance on clock's flux, she pulled on the woman's arm enough for the jaw to shove closer to her lifted knee. Once attained a suitable gap, with the crown of her elbow, it nudges briskly on the nape of the unarmed lass. Triumph had ascended from the descend of seer's eyelids. The next click from watch barks the extant time, 8:17. A rope curled on circular form is released from her tote. She knots the cord forming a hole enough for the size of a head. Dragging the unconscious body with shaded gloves, she set the rest accordingly to her plan. 

Now with no smell of blood, normalcy is on peak, not to mention the hanging body devoured by shadows of dimness inside the place. Soon will be consumed by the mouths of death. If only fortuity will stumble, arid lilac strands will be perceived. Ultear Milkovich is requested to be executed. As a hired assistant for days, she had been deft of the palmist's schedule and routine. Even a request to stay for every night on the dome is granted. And earlier, she just had a request of a thing known as off from service, little to notice a preparation of her personal amenity. That is, also for the sake of another aim; paradoxical execution. To lead someone on the same spot. And on her cognizance, she's expecting it. 

This time, the finale is awaited.

With her coat of earlier, its hood is now donning the fine threads of cherry instead of plum. Time is now circling on the lackluster crystal ball anterior her. Two, five, until ten minutes revolves on the ceiling when a silhouette of a man claims before the entryway. What naught If a simper is witnessed none but only duskiness.   
Making no possible noises, hiding from the eyes of attentiveness, a dagger is pulled slowly from the holster on her thigh. Subsequent is a motion of the sharp welcoming the visitor upon taking the horizontal path towards his visage, swiftly. This man is known for killing with mask worn on his face. Only his name is acquired and further information conjugated to his assassination business. Even she, who is fraught of witnessing the face of this beast is desired desperately. And that had led her to such dauntless act. As an expected agility from the number one assassin, he halted the blade between his palms in an applaud pose. Notwithstanding, the lip of the dagger had brought fissure to the face cover enough to shatter in fragments. Now, he is bare. 

"I love how you became so tricky on a game. Never had I thought you'd love to meet me enough to request an assassination of yourself, Aries. Or shall I say, Erza Scarlet?" Along the utterance of her name is a return of blade not aiming for her spot but to the body hanging behind her.   
None from the inside is perceivable with light but of the moon shade emitted on a specific spot, few steps from the entrance. As the man advances his steps toward the lambent, her blood had turned to ice. 

Familiarity forcibly delve into her cognizance. The teal strands that shone from the luminosity of moon with those penetrating gaze, she became as certain as hell. She has seen those before. Now, Leo is the alias of Siegrain? Yet, dubious snatch the firm conclusion. Lack of scar on his eye. The brows on her face folds in confusion. To dwell scarcely on an unforeseen revelation, she must pin herself on the real desideratum. On the contained worn holster, she pulled the knife off before sliding aimlessly below the table, with a motion so brisk. 

Once attained the aimed spot, she extended her arm that grips on the blade, driving horizontally on his legs. Succeeded from first attempt on first limb, a tough hand of lad halted the further advance, clutched her on entrapment which pave the way to flip her on nearest wall. Whack. She has been kissed from the back by the panel. A pistol from distant welcomed her back, that with no spending more time, had pulled the trigger. Thanks be all to her quick reflexes, she dodged it adopting the skills residing on her veins. A hundred and eighty degrees’ dropkick jabs his gun to flee out of their reach. Now both had no grip on their weapons. Rapid punches and sidestep were exchanged showcasing their proficiency on combat.   
Ultimately, one final blow had altered their stance. Caged in defense, Erza is grasped with the arms of man from her back, obtaining a dead end. 

"Brace yourself, it's a dead end now." The cold fume of his breath caresses the ocean of diminutive hairs on her nape. 

"I'll brace myself, yes of victory. Because you'll soon bite your bones first with worms underneath." With his fingers clasp on the sleeves of her coat, the carmine doffs her covering without removing her own grip on the both of upper arms' hem. A splendid spurn is executed, bringing the body to lean on her back, now tied up by her cloak. The dead end is reversed. 

"Who asked you to assassinate Wendy?" She may have not seen his visage, but vividly she can tell a grin is etched by his lips. Happenstance, a laugh of mockery filled the den. 

"I, a child on your age back then can happen to execute a person? You must know humor. But yes! I am asked to pull the trigger on the head of that weakshit." Now that hit a nerve. From behind, with all might from the contract of her muscles, she pulls the sleeve that's interlaced with his body towards her front. A loud smack from the tile suffuse the interior. 

"I have no knowledge on battle back then but I know how to pull a trigger. But tell me, why would my master asks me to kill that shit instead of hiring someone so skilled?" With the onyx boots, Erza shifted his position from laying upwards to supine. She bent a knee to lower down herself closer to him, gripping on his hair. 

"Who is your Master?" No sedate of voice can be consider. The water is boiling on the peak of temperature. Every rage on her voice is rampaging akin to an animal jailed behind bars with an enticing meat outside. 

"I'll tell you this. I'd rather die than becoming a piece on an unknown game. Know well the play you're playing. Adiós, Aries." Never had she noticed that the Glock is snatched on her waistband, pointed not to her direction but of his. To his jaw. 

"No!"

And as of her deterring, it serves as a go signal rather. A single small missile splatters the chunk of his head. Her dermis is sprinkled by a liquid from the lifeless body, bathing on his own blood. But before she set her eyes off of him, a tattoo on his neck had thwarted her. It is one of the zodiac signs and it wasn't Leo, instead---Gemini, the Twins.

Magenta City   
December 09  
9:15 PM

Unsatisfying satisfaction-- the only thing she felt on that evening. Satiated from the success of her mission to kill the requested being, at the same time is evidently unfulfilled of her aim. She got no answer. She loses her own game. Beneath the cosmos and expansive universe, scarlet pierced through the radiance of sky. Carving her name with the star cluster, she looks up on the sky. December 09. It has a radiance different from usual. Dazzling and incandescent.   
Just like constellation Aries, she had the embodiment of Fire. Blazing and igniting to the extent. 

"I had once became guest of fortune-telling. But ended up for the palmist to reap her own fate--- death." First from the list of world’s best assassin, from the underground economy, Erza Scarlet alias Aries; the Ram.

**Author's Note:**

> Penned are scenes that follows no canonical verse from the original anime, Fairy Tail. Yet, for the betterment of the composition, characters and several places are worn. Time period and settings are adapted to the modern era. Withal, please be guided from the following: 
> 
> 1\. Siegrain as another identity of Jellal Fernandes will be utilize as a separate persona to run a character. 
> 
> 2\. For the rest of the characters, expect a massive alteration of behavior and involved personality. 
> 
> 3\. Celestial characters from Fairy Tail had no distinct role to the prose. The idea of constellation only depicts the intent characters for pseudonyms' purposes. 
> 
> 4\. The dissemination of constellations of every character has nothing conjugated of the original anime. And lastly;
> 
> 5\. Voracity towards assassination and its further authenticity is anticipated. 
> 
> Again, everything that are woven together is desired to augment the tier of an Alternate Universe.


End file.
